American Sniper

by Chris Kyle

  We shared Chris’s laughter, smile, pranks, jokes, and stories. He always had a story to be told, and only in the way Chris could express so vividly. There were so many laughs; even the two o’clock April Fool’s calls and New Year’s wake-up surprises were funny, at least after the fact.

  As parents we have such dreams for our sons—they’re unlimited. We encouraged Chris to dream big. He did, and he achieved those dreams, even more than he could imagine.

  Chris, God had a plan for your life much bigger than we can even comprehend. You have touched so many lives with your infectious laughter, your side grin, your great sense of humor, your compassion and tenderheartedness, and of course that twinkle in your eye. You loved life and lived it full blast. We stand here today brokenhearted, knowing that death may end a life, but your spirit will live on for eternity. It will never end our immense love for you. You have been an example of standing up for your convictions, pride in your country, and true love for Texas.

  Our hearts ache to feel, once more, those all-engulfing and loving bear hugs you always gave; to hear you say, “I love you, Dad,” or “I love you, Mom.” To see you smile, hear you laugh, and watch you with your family.

  As parents all we could give you was love, direction, and courage to succeed and believe in yourself. You took that and lived life to the fullest. You had a passion for everything you did.

  God anointed you with your name: “The Protector.” Your life embodied the full meaning of the word. You were tender to the young, compassionate with the wounded, and sympathetic with the less fortunate. The Lord had his hand on you the moment you were born. You were destined for greatness.

  We could not be any more proud of you, son. Not in your medals, honors, or notoriety, but in the loving son, committed husband and father, the truly amazing man you became. Your courage of conviction, your strength to persevere, and the hope that survives disappointments are the keys to your success in life. You embraced and lived the slogan, “Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” You knew that a successful life is not measured in how well known you were but in how well respected you were; not in your power to take but in your willingness to give. Your success is measured by the height of your aspirations, the width of your vision, and the depths of your convictions.

  Chris, you define the true meaning of a successful life.

  Until you spread your wings, you will not know how far you can fly. Son, heaven has no limits. Soar to heaven and keep watch over us.

  Son, we are so thankful for having you in our life for the years that God gave us. We are so blessed to have shared your happiness and your sorrow. We are so proud that we watched you achieve your goals. You were and will always be a true blessing.

  Son, you will live in our hearts forever. We will rejoice in the memories that you have given us. We are so brokenhearted, but we will persevere as we grasp onto your strength. We will stand at ease because we know that you are standing guard.

  We have loved you and we will continue to love you even more.

  TAYA KYLE

  When you think you cannot do something, think again.

  Chris always said, “The body will do whatever the mind tells it to.” I am counting on that now.

  I stand before you a broken woman, but I am now and always will be the wife of a man who is a warrior both on the battlefield and off.

  Some people along the way have told Chris that through it all, he was lucky I stayed with him. I am standing before you now to set the record straight. Remember this: I am the one who is literally, in every sense of the word, blessed that Chris stayed with me.

  I feel compelled to tell you that I am not a fan of people romanticizing their loved ones in death. I don’t need to romanticize Chris, because our reality is messy, passionate, full of every extreme emotion known to man, including fear, compassion, anger, pain, laughing so hard we doubled over and hugged it out, laughing when we were irritated with each other, and laughing when we were so in love it felt like someone hung the moon for only us.

  All of it, the messy, painful, constantly changing, crazy ride, was rolled up into the deepest, most soul-changing experience that only one man, Chris Kyle, could bring.

  Chris was all in, no matter what he did in life. If he loved you, and I mean really loved you, he did it without judgment.

  I will relate one of my clearest memories to you now in an attempt to explain how he put me, and others in his life, at ease. The backstory is this: Chris and I fell in love quickly. He was like a kid in a candy store and jumped into loving me with both feet and no looking back. It made me feel like pure gold, because I thought he was the most uniquely idealistic, fun, loving, intelligent, intuitive, and sensitive man I had ever met. It was starting to weigh heavily on my heart that this amazing man had a “love is blind” thing going on. A couple of months into our relationship, we were in the car in Coronado, California, and I got up the courage to tell Chris something I felt was very important for him to know. As happy as I was with Chris when we were physically together, we lived in different cities, and my real life, meaning the time I was not physically in his company, was full of stress and anxiety for many different reasons.

  “Chris, I think you need to know something,” I confessed. “I am really messed up. I really struggle with a lot of things.”

  Without batting an eye, and without pausing, he gently said in a way only Chris could, “You’re a package deal, babe. I love you. All of you.”

  He grabbed my hand, and that was it. That was Chris for me through good and tough times. When I was hard on myself, he was the gentle force telling me that sum of me—failures, successes, love, joy, anxiety, and pain, were all rolled up into a package that was just fine by him. Thank you, Chris. Thank you for loving me, all of me.

  I want to take a minute and honor Chad Littlefield. Because loving without judgment is what Chad gave to Chris also.

  Chad and Chris started with a clean slate. Chad met Chris as just another father on the ball field trying to love his family. In the craziness of life, Chad came along with his quiet, large presence and easy smile, rugged beard and dimples. He blessed Chris with a friendship that was the one thing Chris needed more than anything. It was effortless. Chad would just show up and share some laughs, or show up and not say a word, depending on Chris’s mood that day.

  Chad helped Chris get back into his workouts by doing one thing—he showed up. It was good for both of them. Chris used to tell me some mornings after a 5 A.M. workout with Chad, “Well, Chad and I were real chatty this morning.”

  I would start laughing. “Oh yeah?” I would say. “Did y’all say one sentence or two?”

  A couple times Chris shocked me by saying there were maybe a couple short bursts of conversations. But it was 5 A.M. Neither one of them wanted to be there at 5 A.M. They were there because Chris needed it.

  If Chris had had a particularly rough day, there were times he would mention it to Chad, and I have a feeling those conversations were as short as the 5 A.M. ones, plus or minus some. On those days, after the kids were in bed, it was common for Chad to just pop over for a visit. Chad and Leanne told us once they were Chris and my “FBBs”—that stood for “Friends Before the Book.” That was absolutely true and we all knew it. That didn’t mean that Chad didn’t appreciate “The Legend” and the SEAL in Chris, though.

  A little over a week ago, Chad showed up as he often did, just after the kids had gone to bed. He sauntered in, Sonic bag and large soda in hand, with his usual smile, nod, and a “Whassup girl?” to me. That evening he showed Chris a new rifle and scope he had just invested in. He asked Chris to fix up the scope for him.

  Chris began asking Chad all kinds of technical questions about what he wanted and needed with it. Chad just cocked his head sideways and laughed, “You tell me, brother.” Chris went to work. Chad looked at me and said, “Chris Kyle is fixin’ up my scope, what?” In that tone he knew would crack us all up—and it did.

  The bottom li
ne is this: If it was a workout Chris needed, Chad was in. If it was a quiet night of hanging out, Chad was in. Thank you, Chad. Thank you for being that effortless, no expectations, comforting friend Chris needed. Chris and I both knew you loved him, and the feeling was mutual, my friend. I think you know that, too.

  Kids, I will cherish the look on your dad’s face when you would both come running across the house just to take a flying leap into his arms and tell him how much you missed him when he was gone. He loved that! I hope you know with all your heart that being your dad was the highlight of your father’s life. He would always shake his head and wonder how he got so lucky to be with you. I honestly don’t remember a night where Daddy and I would tuck you in and he wouldn’t say, “Man, we are so blessed to have you two kids.”

  Bubba, your dad was so impressed by your intelligence, your kind heart, and your athletic ability, among many other things. He loved to make you laugh; if it was inappropriate and it made you laugh, he did it more, just to see you laugh longer. He loved the way you hugged him and sat cuddled up next to him on the couch. You made him feel like the best dad in the world. He called you his little man because in so many ways he already saw the man in you and was proud. He loved you beyond measure.

  Baby Girl, Daddy had no idea what having a daughter would be like. He soon found out that you would soften and melt his heart with your many kisses and hugs. You would squeeze him and not let go, or if the way to his lap was empty, you would crawl up there and fill it up. You loved him in a way that is different than anything he had ever known and it always has and always will delight him to no end. He loved your jokes and loved the way you would be his sweet little girl with a no-holds-barred attitude. Like the time you told him off in the sweetest, most sincere way after the Six Flags ride scared you. Above all else, he loved you wholly and completely and he knew you also thought he was the best dad in the world.

  So, my sweet angels, we will put one foot in front of the other and remember how silly Dad was, and how we all made fun of his Texas twang. We will laugh at how we would “poke the bear,” and we will hug each other tightly just like Dad would do with us. We will pray the prayers he prayed with us.

  We will remember that your dad had so much pride in your manners, good sportsmanship, and friendship to each other, and we will continue them all. We will remember that his Baby Girl and his Bubba meant the world to him and that he didn’t just talk about that, he loved you and he lived his life to show you.

  Chris, there isn’t enough time to tell you everything you mean to me and everything you taught me. I know you had no idea you were teaching me. There is something only God and I have known for a long time: God worked through you to make me into the woman I am supposed to be. I almost feel sorry for you, babe, because God knew it would take the toughest and softest-hearted man on earth to get a hardheaded, cynical, hard-loving woman like me to see what God needed me to see. He chose you for the job. He chose well. You taught me innocent, reckless love without abandon. You taught me how to turn a life full of fear into a life full of faith. You taught me that I could be more independent than I ever wanted to be.

  You taught me how to raise children with love and softness and proved it could be done with a high standard of respect and old-fashioned values. You taught me that I could forgive more deeply than I thought I could. You taught me that I was actually able to hold my tongue in anger. (By the way, I am sorry that took so long.)

  You taught me that even as a Yankee, I could learn to have a conversation with my slow-talking Texas man without interrupting. I swear I never thought that was possible, and I know you thought that, too. You taught me that I am okay just the way I am. You taught me that no matter what life lays in front of you, it’s unwise to worry or overthink it, because even in the worst of times, life has a way of working out. And you have showed me that in life and even in death some people are always with you.

  I love you, Chris. I love you, I love you, I love you.

  “BUBBA,”

  CHRIS’S SON

  “BABY GIRL,”

  CHRIS’S DAUGHTER

  JEFF KYLE

  CHRIS’S BROTHER

  Seeing Jeff off before his deployment as a Marine. 29 Palms military base, 2006.

  It’s extremely difficult to squeeze a lifetime’s worth of memories into a few words.

  Chris was my mentor as well as my brother and friend. Like a lot of brothers, we went through a phase where we wanted to kill each other every second. We were constantly fighting and at each other’s throats. Then, suddenly, we weren’t. I don’t know what turned it around. After he graduated from high school and went to college, I went to see him and we hung out like friends. Being together was suddenly easy. Oh, we still had our disagreements and arguments, but it was different. We got pretty tight.

  Even through that little time of conflict, I’d watch what he did. He was my example, my mentor. We shared the values of how we were raised, and I saw him put them into action. As we grew older, we had more and more in common. Chris joined the military; I joined a year later. We both went to Iraq, both fought for our country. We came home, started raising families.

  The kids loved him. It was the little things Chris did with the kids that I remember. My oldest daughter called him Uncle Kiss. She still asks for him. My youngest was born a few weeks prematurely—thankfully, just in time for Chris to meet her before he died. I’ll always remember how happy he was for us all. He’d do anything for the kids—even eat olives.

  When my oldest was two, she became the pickiest eater in the world. And if someone made so much as a face when she was eating something, she decided that it was terrible and she wouldn’t touch it. It didn’t matter what it was—it could be Cheerios, her favorite. It was suddenly unfit for consumption.

  We were all at a family dinner one day and my little girl got a plate of olives, at this point about the only vegetable she was still willing to eat. Uncle Kiss made a face, and just like that, olives were no longer edible.

  “Thanks,” I told my brother, half thinking that now she’d never eat any vegetable at all until she was in her twenties.

  Chris decided he was going to fix that. He looked at my daughter.

  “Olives are good,” he told her. “Look, I’ll show you.”

  Now you have to understand—when I say Chris hated olives, I mean he hated olives. A half sliver of one buried in a pizza somewhere would turn his stomach in the worst way. But he picked one up from her plate and ate it whole. And just like that, she was back to eating olives. I’m sure if we’d had them there, he’d’ve had her eating the entire vegetable kingdom by the end of the night, no matter what the effect on his stomach.

  I want my kids to know he was an outstanding man before he was a military hero. He stuck up for people. He was inspirational and fun, and always a teacher—something always rubbed off on you, one way or another, when you were with him.

  Not long after he died, a television interviewer asked me how I thought Chris would want to be remembered. I told them that he didn’t care about the hype. He just wanted to be known as Chris Kyle, a good ol’ country boy, a guy who was wired to help other people, but at the end of the day, just a regular guy.

  ANDREW ALEXANDER

  FRIEND

  Andrew Alexander and Chris in 2012. To his friends, Chris was a gentle giant and an inspiration to do something worthwhile with their lives.

  It goes without saying that Chris Kyle was one of the most heroic war fighters our country has ever seen. A man not afraid to fight a nasty battle for his country so that you and I could live in “the land of the free.”

  Chris created countless memories for me over the years during hunting and fishing trips. I will never forget how he was always a gentleman to everyone who crossed his path.

  Chris had a spirit that was positive, warm, kind, and inviting. I cannot recall a time that he ever met a stranger—everyone was instantly a friend. Never did he pass by someone who wanted to say hello, shak
e his hand, or thank him for his service. He always stopped and offered up a smile and a handshake or a hug. Chris was a true gentleman.

  He taught me and others by example. This gentlemanly spirit will live on forever. His actions have created long-lasting and memorable reactions. I will do better, work harder, push further, give more, love more, and be more because of my friend, the gentleman, Chris Kyle!

  BO PHARR

  FRIEND

  Bo and Chris posing in Chris’s living room. Their friendship covered many years and many miles, but always remained solid.

  God sent an angel with the name of Chris Kyle

  Guess he thought we needed one with some country style.

  I was lucky enough to meet him when we were in the third grade.

  Wasn’t long after that best friends had been made.

  I can remember soccer, video games, playing outside and more, and who could forget the annual birthday BB gun war!

  It wasn’t long before our parents sent us off to college.

  That’s where we were supposed to gain all of our knowledge.

  A little school, lots of parties, and rodeo too—those were the days of TSU.

  After college, when life took us different ways, we would try to stay in touch and remember the glory days.

  You would enlist in the Navy, take a bride, and fight for our nation; with honor and courage you would defend our salvation.

  Because of your skill you would be nationally known but still would remain humble, a seed your parents had sown.

  I was always proud that you weren’t blinded by the Hollywood light but stayed true to yourself with the end goal in sight.

  To help your fellow soldiers with their struggles after war: it was something that you were called for and couldn’t ignore.